


With a Heart Grown Wild

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Mairon wants is to finish this one little project with a modicum of <i>peace</i>, thank you.  Melkor flatly claims insult at how very little attention he is receiving in the meantime.  </p><p>Set before Mairon’s fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Heart Grown Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alan_None](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alan_None/gifts).



> This was written as a request for **Alan_None** , who asked for fluff and “Melkor being seductive”, and so…this is what came of that prompt. The rating is for mild suggestive themes. Set before Mairon’s fall and obviously during his (ha) seduction to the dark side. So to speak.
> 
> I am still open for more requests! Please let me know if you have one - or more, even. I do love writing these for you all.
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon leaned over the workdesk in his private quarters, trying in vain to pay no attention the restless Vala pacing back and forth behind him. 

He twisted the tiny turnscrew in his hand against an equally small piece of matching hardware, biting his lip in concentration as it pulled several wires taut inside the decorative figure created from copper. Those wires, connected to the little screw in the back, sealed across a stone of dark green malachite and held it in place - a heart for the lifeless metallic being, visible through the cage-like chest. Nothing more than a fanciful figurine to be displayed somewhere, if it was ever finished, and he had spent much of his personal time welding the metal and carving the stone to the correct size.

Now, however, his focus was constantly broken by Melkor’s grumblings as he moved about the room, picking things up and setting them down again.

“Leave, if you are as bored as you seem,” Mairon muttered, wincing slightly at the too-heavy clunk of the chest holding a modest amount of jewelry as it landed back on his night table. Not where it had been, before Melkor took it up to rummage through.

“I would prefer it greatly if you would simply put that aside and converse with me, while I am here,” Melkor retorted, ire clear in his words. “You are usually able to do both at once, work and hold a delightful conversation. Why is this little project any different?”

Mairon set his turnscrew down on the desk, flattening his palm out over it, and turned to look over his shoulder. “This ‘little project’, as you so _aptly_ put it, requires a great deal of concentration. And stop touching my things,” he added sharply as Melkor reached for a cloth-bound book this time. “You are too rough with them, I am on the edge of my seat waiting for something to shatter.” 

The Vala glared at him, the sarcasm heard and obviously not appreciated. “I would never be so callous. I simply do not enjoy being ignored.”

“Ignored!” 

Mairon almost laughed when he realized all of this anxious energy, pouring off of him into the room to infect them both, came down to pure _envy_ , of all things. Never would he have imagined this so-called dark lord, capable of such monstrous power spoken of only in hushed whispers - would be envious of his own time spent elsewhere. He smiled and shook his head, turning away back to his little figure to pick up the turnscrew again. It was nowhere near finished. 

“I am not ignoring you,” Mairon said clearly, the grin falling into his tone. Melkor scoffed. “I am focused on something more engaging than you just now, is all.”

The joke held between them in silence for a long moment before Melkor chuckled and the tension Mairon had not been paying any attention to diminished fully. He walked across the room, coming to look over Mairon’s shoulder at his work. “More engaging? Dear me. Will metal and earth and fire always be my competition, when it comes to your time?”

“Oh yes, always,” Mairon mumbled, only half-hearing what was said as he turned his full attention to a faulty golden wire inside the chest-like cage. He jumped and nearly dropped the entire piece, not expecting it at all when one of Melkor’s hands slipped up into his hair to release the metal clasp holding it back into a twisted bun out of his face. Strands fell down in a smooth wave, obscuring his vision, and he quickly pushed them aside and glanced around in a fluster.

“What are you doing?” he asked, surprised as Melkor reached around him to - gently, this time, careful not to break it - set the clasp down on the desk. “I can’t see what I’m doing, with my hair down. It gets in the way.”

“Yes, that is the point. The price you pay for rebuffing me as you have for the entirety of my visit. I must enact some form of sabotage, mustn’t I?”

“Perhaps if you gave proper warning of your arrival, I would be able to plan my time better,” Mairon snipped waspishly, not at all sure where this was going. There was a small part of him, though, that did not exactly _mind_ the excitement. That part was promptly ignored. “Showing up unplanned as you do so often, it is rather difficult to -”

He broke off, startled when Melkor pulled the hair back himself, tugging it carefully aside and leaning close. He was still towering above, his frame so much larger, but he was able to fold forward so his face rested against the back side of Mairon’s neck above the high collar of his tunic. It was an odd feeling, his skin so cool against his own, burning with the fire he always held. 

“But where would the fun in that be,” Melkor murmured, the words brushing softly over his skin, and he could feel a bold smile against his neck. He blinked quickly, clearing his vision to focus his running mind as Melkor continued in a low rumble, “If I announced my visit every time you would always be prepared. I do not fancy that idea much. And I _do_ enjoy watching you work.”

“You did not seem to enjoy it so much just now,” Mairon countered, his wits thankfully coming back quickly. Still, he was almost relieved his voice did not reveal how breathless he was in that moment.

Melkor laughed lightly and turned his face just enough to press his lips fully to Mairon’s skin. Not in a kiss, more a pressure there that seared both hot and cold together, and he felt the Vala take in a sharp inhale against him, as though pulling the scent of his very flesh out of the empty air. Mairon’s chest clenched tightly at the sensation - a not altogether _bad_ sensation. Quite the contrary, if he were honest, which only stirred a deep befuddlement he wanted nothing to do with. 

“Lord Melkor, perhaps -”

His attempt to stop this flustering encounter did very little, and at his words Melkor released his hair to run his hand through it instead. His fingers brushed against Mairon’s scalp, falling down easily through the knot-less strands. “ _That_ ,” he breathed, face still pressed so close with his body bent almost double to fill Mairon’s entire space, “is the first time you have ever called me by name.”

“Surely it is not,” Mairon tried to argue. “And I was merely being polite, with the honorific. All Valar should be addressed as such, regardless of - current station,” he finished softly. Melkor’s free hand had slid down his shoulder to his arm, fingers able to wrap fully around it. The grip was not at all one of restraint, but rather one of outright possession, and the touch burned through him. He did not feel inclined to pull away, and perhaps that was why he decided then that he must.

Still, it was a difficult task when Melkor tilted his head once more to move his nose against the back of Mairon’s ear, lips resting against the soft flesh just behind. He could still feel that grin, as telling as anything else, and finally, mustering what strength he found he had, Mairon turned and attempted to lean away. It was a miscalculated movement, and his face brushed against Melkor’s until they were nose-to-cheek.

“You are not considering leaving, are you,” Melkor murmured with another widening smile, one Mairon could see with his current vantage from the side. There was something oddly endearing about the expression on his face, and Mairon found he could no longer move. “Surely you are not rebuffing me _now_.”

“I must finish working on this,” Mairon said, not answering with either a positive or negative when he was not sure himself which direction to go. He swallowed, his throat heavy. “And you are distracting me something terrible. You did say you enjoy watching me work, so if you would kindly -”

A knock on the door startled them both, the atmosphere changing quickly from whatever it had been - Mairon was not sure at all - to one of contained chaos. He jumped up from his desk just as Melkor scrambled away from him and looked around for somewhere to go. Mairon put his hands on Melkor’s shoulders and swiftly pushed him backward into the wall beside the large wooden dressing closet. The bulk of furniture was enough to hide him from whoever was at the door, at least for the moment, and Mairon held his hand up in a motion of peace, silently asking that he remain still.

The knock came again, a bit more reluctant this time, and Mairon opened the door. Curumo was on the other side, a piece of rolled parchment clutched in his hands. “Master Aulë has requested to see you as quickly as you’re able to come,” he said, holding out the paper. “He wants to - say, Mairon, are you all right? Your face is quite flushed.”

“Fine,” Mairon answered quickly, snatching the parchment with more aggravation than the situation warranted. He let out a breath, calming himself, and forced a convincing smile to his face. “I am all right, Curumo, thank you. Your concern is appreciated. What does Master Aulë want us for?”

“Well, _you_ ,” Curumo said, trying to hide his disappointment and only just failing. “He mentioned a new material he’d found, he wishes for you to take a look at it. That is all he would tell me, though I think there is more information written down for you.”

“I will be there in just a few minutes,” Mairon affirmed, smiling gently again. “Thank you for bringing the message.”

Curumo nodded, and opened his mouth as though to say something else. But he shook his head instead and backed out into the hallway so Mairon could close his door. He glanced down at the roll of parchment, the center somewhat wrinkled, and slowly opened it. There was nothing more of urgency inside, only a retelling of what Curumo had already explained. He folded it across through the center and walked back to his desk to drop it on top of several notebooks. The little figure was abandoned there, forgotten.

“So you are leaving me now, I assume.”

“You assume correctly,” Mairon replied, lips coming up into a more melancholy sort of grin as Melkor approached him.

The Vala reached out with one hand, brushing his fingertips along Mairon’s jaw in very brief passing before running them up into his hair to pull through once. He left the fallen strands across Mairon’s shoulder as he pulled away. “Will you be tying this up again?”

“If I am to return to the forge and not set myself on fire, yes.” 

A faint look of disappointment mingled with a fiercely intense longing blossomed on Melkor’s face and vanished again, and Mairon was not entirely sure what had brought it. He hesitated for a moment. “Do come visit again soon,” he added, surprising them both with the candor of his request. “Or pester, more likely, as it seems you are much better at that.”

“I enjoy it quite a bit more, certainly,” Melkor replied with a chuckle. “That sharp tongue of yours is reason enough to continue. And the way color comes into your face to match your hair when I -”

“Yes, all right, I understand very well.” Mairon irritably grabbed the clasp up from his desk pushed past him to make for the door. “Find your own way out, as you always do. And do not touch anything before you leave.”

He left without another word. His neck was still burning with an icy chill, yet hot as the forge fires he was heading toward as he stalked quietly through the hall, Melkor’s touch quite alive even with them far parted. _No_ , he finally admitted to himself, fully aware of the ramifications for doing so. _Not altogether unpleasant at all._


End file.
